


Blooming

by pt_tucker



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bed Warming, Father-Son Relationship, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Official Bed Warmer, Oral Sex, Thranduil has strange ideas about sex, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:08:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4036297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pt_tucker/pseuds/pt_tucker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Noting how his son's curiosity has finally shifted to subjects less than innocent, Thranduil does what any proper father would do and arranges Legolas a bed warmer.</p><p>Legolas is not amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blooming

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Amber](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4012522) by [yeaka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka). 



> While reading yeaka's amazing "Amber" (seriously, go read it) I realized that I'd never really seen a story before in which "bed warmer" was treated like an actual occupation. It inspired me to write this story, though I'm not certain it came out quite how I wanted it to. I might have to write more fics to get the ideas out properly. ;)
> 
> Please be aware everything I know about this world came from the movies & some fanfics here and there.
> 
> P.S. I had a hell of a time with the stupid summary. If you were lucky enough to be watching as I changed it 17 times, I hope you enjoyed the laugh.

Creeping on almost silent feet as to not alert his father, Legolas stopped before the door to the king’s study. He allowed himself a moment to double-check his composure, something he would undoubtedly need seeing as the king didn’t summon him to have simple chats. Legolas couldn’t help but think he was about to be scolded like a naughty elfling. For what, he could not imagine.

Raising his fist, he knocked twice on the large, intricately carved wooden door. He clasped his arms behind his back and waited after that, knowing from experience that a summons from the king did not automatically entitle you to an immediate audience. He’d been left out waiting in the hall for hours before, face flushing each time one of his fellow elves passed through and saw him standing there like a forgotten toy. Legolas had come to suspect over time that it was part of an elaborate plot to keep him from being too spoiled, though that ship had long since sailed according to the hushed whispers of many of his elders. 

“Come,” Thranduil’s voice called through the door not a minute hence.

A small bit of relief washed through him. Perhaps he was not in trouble after all. Relaxing his shoulders just enough that only his father or closest friends would notice, he pushed open the door.

“You wished to see me, Ada?”

“Yes,” Thranduil said, pausing in his work. He took in Legolas’ face and then ran his eyes down his form slowly. 

Legolas straightened under the scrutiny. He wondered what his father found lacking – for he always found something lacking in _everyone._ However, to his great surprise, Thranduil simply smiled at him when he finished his study. That was almost worse than a scolding, for it was a false smile. His real ones locked away deep inside only to be let out on the rarest of occasions. 

Something in Legolas ached at the thought that he could not bring his father joy, though he knew it was not his fault. Most of his kin had been shocked Thranduil had managed to keep from fading into the great grief that was the loss of his mother so many centuries ago. That he had instead covered his heart in ice in order to continue to not only live, but thrive as their king…Well, Legolas could not be too upset that Thranduil rarely allowed a smile to grace his lips, not even for his son. 

“You have grown ion nin.”

“Yes,” Legolas replied, brow crinkled. 

“Tell me, Legolas, what is your age?”

“I have seen over thirteen hundred summers.” 

He gazed at his father suspiciously, for Thranduil was more apt to know his age on any given day than he was. Not that elves generally forgot the number of times their day of birth had come round, but Legolas had been startled more than once upon realizing the grand celebration being planned was for him, so busy was he sometimes with his duties.

“Over a millennia. You have bloomed late, ion nin,” Thranduil said, sounding almost pleased. Legolas stared at his father bewildered. “In this I am glad we are not alike, for I bloomed early and I despaired of losing your attention to the passions of the flesh before you had yet seen a millennia, as my father so despaired for me.” Looking directly into his eyes, he said, “It is a terrible distraction for a young commander.”

A horrible sense of understanding came to him, followed swiftly by a flood of red rushing to his face. So embarrassed was he, even the tips of his ears felt warm. 

“Ada, if this is about…” he searched for the right word and was even more mortified to see something close to amusement flicker briefly across his father’s features before hiding away under his mask, “…love making, I assure you we need not speak of this any further. I know all there is to know-” 

Which was exactly the wrong thing to say, as he would have known if he’d not been so flustered and frantically searching for an escape from his horrible predicament. His father was before him in an instant, moving with a quick, fluid grace that would have had many of Legolas’ fellow warriors crying in envy. 

Faces mere inches apart, Thranduil hissed, “Who has touched you?”

“No one, Ada!” Thranduil narrowed his eyes. “I give you my word. I only meant that I am one of many who guards our borders. I have … seen things. After hard won battles,” he said, adding the last part in a hurry lest his father believe his archers were love-making when they should be hunting spiders.

Thranduil stared into his eyes, the ancient king carefully weighing the truth of his words against what his penetrating gaze could discover. Legolas did not cower away, as he did not lie. Apparently satisfied, Thranduil leaned away and then took a few steps back to allow Legolas some room to breathe once again.

“Yes, it is only natural for an elfling to become curious about these things,” he said, moving on as if he’d not just been about to squeeze the lift out of some unnamed elf with his bare hands.

Legolas wanted to protest that he wasn’t an elfling, but of course he was to one so old as his father. 

“That does not explain how you ‘know all there is to know,’ however. Brief glimpses under the moonlight do not a proper education make.” 

Thranduil studied him once more before a knowing smirk touched his lips. Legolas wasn’t aware his cheeks could redden even more until that moment. 

“You have been spying on your companions, ion nin.”

Legolas didn’t deny it. 

He stared as his father’s smirk morphed into one of his true smiles, far fainter than his false ones, but so much purer. The conversation was not as horrible as it’d been mere moments before.

“Do not fret, my leaf. It is for this reason I have brought you here today. I know you have started to have desires you have never felt before. I know you now crave the touch of another on your bare skin and this makes you unbearably curious as to the intimacy provided to others.”

Legolas nodded mutely. 

“You shall not continue to suffer; I have arranged for this thirst to be quenched. Properly,” Thranduil said, putting distance between them so that he once more stood behind his desk. Legolas’ father was gone and in his place stood the Elvenking of Mirkwood.

“Properly?” 

“I have carefully selected a small group of individuals from which you may choose your bed warmer. They have been ordered to appear in the audience chamber once the sun begins to set.”

“You cannot be serious.” 

Thranduil merely raised an eyebrow in response. The king was always serious.

That had been the absolute last thing Legolas thought might happen, his wild guesses having ranged anywhere from being gifted pleasure toys to use in solitude – for his father was a practical man – to being sent to a healer for some sort of cure to his ailment. Legolas didn’t actually think such a cure existed, judging by the way some of his fellows went about it like animals in heat, but he’d learned not to underestimate his father’s determination to have his way.

“I can find bed partners on my own,” Legolas snapped. The idea of _assigning_ someone to sleep with him hurt something deep inside. As if he were so unwanted one had to be bribed to lie in the same bed! 

“Of course you can. You are a handsome warrior prince,” Thranduil said, waving his hand as if it should be obvious. Legolas was abruptly reminded of the fact that his father himself had a bed warmer and felt his painful emotions slowly drain away. 

“It is not your lack of potential partners I find disconcerting, my leaf, but rather your overabundance of them. People will soon be vying for your attention, attempting to pull you into darkened corners to engage in carnal acts only for another to usurp their position once you have enjoyed the previous. It would be easy for one so young to become lost in the sensations of the flesh and neglect your duties.” Legolas couldn’t help but wonder if Thranduil was speaking from personal experience. Thoughts of his father in darkened corners were not ones he wanted to contemplate for long, however. “Even more disconcerting is the ability for young lovers to confuse pleasure for passion. I would be most displeased if that were to happen.”

Yes, Legolas knew his father’s expectations. He was to marry for love, but only so long as the one he loved was deemed appropriate. While Thranduil rarely voiced his disapproval to his face, he’d heard tales of how his father took great joy in frightening off any who did not meet his exacting standards, be they potential suitor or friend or even training companion. This included … basically everyone. 

Though he despaired of Thranduil’s prying into his private matters, Legolas found he could not fault him too much. There was no greater test of who was a true friend, who held foul ambitions, and who believed they were _expected_ to like and be liked by the king’s son than how they treated Legolas after a pointedly raised eyebrow from his father. 

“How were these men chosen? Did they express interest?” Legolas asked, having long learned how to spot an argument with his father he wasn’t going to win. He would have a bed warmer whether he desired one or not. 

Thranduil swirled around the desk to sit in his chair, granting Legolas the position of power now that he had his acceptance – a reward for pleasing him. Not that such a position actually gave Legolas any power. He may now be the one looking down on his father, but he held no illusions as to who was in control in the room. And Thranduil wondered why he so often asked for forgiveness rather than permission. 

“While the position of bed warmer is highly honored, it is not always the best use of our resources. I asked the masters of each area to provide me with a list of their least skilled workers who were not already meant for another. I removed the names of any individuals I did not find appropriate and the result is what you shall see in a few hours hence.”

Legolas frowned. It didn’t escape his notice that no mention was made of whether they desired him or not. 

“And if I find none of them pleasing?” Legolas asked.

Thranduil gave him a look that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Then I shall be forced to round up another batch for you to choose from. And I will continue to do so until you have chosen. Unless you wish for my recommendation?”

The idea of his father deciding who he was to bed for the next several decades was utterly terrifying. And it truly would be _decades_ for Legolas had not the heart to reassign his yet unknown bed warmer, even should he not please him. For what did it say about an elf that he failed even in the duty of sex?

Something must have shown on his face, for his father smirked for the second time in their conversation. The king was rarely so expressional. 

“You need not actually share a bed if that is not your will,” Thranduil said. 

What he didn’t say that Legolas heard clearly enough was that if he found him with another, his wrath would come down upon them both like an avalanche cascading down a mountain. Taking into consideration his elders found him to be spoiled, Legolas could only assume that meant he would be told to stay in his room for a week while his lover was banished for all eternity as a lesson to all potential suitors. 

“I will take him if he will have me,” Legolas ground out unwillingly. He certainly would not deny his bed warmer if he desired to touch flesh to flesh; the idea excited him beyond measure. 

“I do this not to punish you, my leaf. A bed warmer will give you stability in these confusing times. He will be available whenever you need him, whether it be for pleasure or comfort.” Thranduil paused and Legolas could almost see him weighing his next words. After a minute of silence in which Legolas assumed he’d found the weight not to be to his ideal specifications, his father added, “He is there so you need not spend the night alone.”

Legolas felt his throat close at the admission. Such a small thing. Longing hit him full force and he so desperately wanted to ask about the mother he could not remember-

The moment escaped as quickly as it’d been captured, Thranduil’s iciest look coming to rest on his face. His father would brook no conversation involving his fallen love. He never did.

“You would do well to use the time you have left to think upon that which you desire most in a physical partner. It will make your choice easier when the time comes.”

Legolas could only nod in reply.

=======================================

A feeling of dread settled over Legolas as he made his way to the audience chamber. It was not unlike that which he felt upon seeing one of his captains walking towards him after a terrible battle, when he knew he was about to be given the names of the fallen. He reacted to the feeling much as he did in those times: he squared his shoulders and kept his head high for he knew he needed to be strong for those who would look to him for guidance. His steps faltered upon rounding a corner and finding his father standing there waiting for him.

“Father,” he greeted as he came closer.

“Legolas,” Thranduil acknowledged.

Aware of the door guards not a foot away from them, he asked carefully, “You have come to watch me choose?”

What he really wanted was to beg his father leave so that he may speak freely to whoever lay within the chamber. 

“If you wish. I have just finished explaining why they have been summoned.”

Gratitude came at him twofold. Once for his father allowing him his privacy in this moment and then again for Thranduil’s foresight to make this appear the fanciful whim of the king that it was. If gossip should be whispered throughout the palace, as it inevitably would, at least this would be dubbed yet another oddity of their strange king and not Legolas being…Well, Legolas didn’t want to contemplate what this might say about him.

“I wish to go in alone.”

“Then I shall retire to my chambers for the night. Tell me of your choice in the morning.”

“Yes, Ada.”

“And Legolas-” Thranduil leaned in to whisper into his ear “-should you desire more than one, I will not be displeased. But no more than three.” 

With that, he swept down the corridor. 

Face red, Legolas refused to look at the guards who had to have heard. He was glad for the masks as he didn’t risk even accidentally meeting one of their gazes as he pushed passed them to enter the audience chamber. 

He realized he should have waited for his face to cool the moment every eye in the room turned to him the instant he walked through the door. Well then. If there was one thing his father had taught him over the centuries, it was how to appear haughty. He used that now as he glided across the room, just daring one of them to so much as raise an eyebrow. None did, though a few of the younger ones actually straightened under his gaze. 

Legolas kept his mask strong, even as he caught sight of two men towards the end of the line who were beginning archers, if poor ones. He could only assume Tauriel had been asked to provide the recommendation for the king’s task, seeing as he’d never caught wind of Thranduil looking for the particularly skill-less among his fighters. Legolas didn’t know how he’d face his friend in the coming days. Her teasing would be insufferable.

“If there are any among you who do not wish to be here, leave now. You need not give a reason and my father will not be informed of your withdrawal. I will not allow any to stand before me who do not wish to perform this task.”

One stepped forward immediately. Bowing low, he said, “I would beg your forgiveness my prince. I was asked by the head cook if I had feelings for another but I thought it a ploy to force a confession that I was not yet ready to provide. If I had known this is why I was being asked, I would have spoken truly. I fear I have wasted your time.”

“You need not bow nor ask for forgiveness. I am glad you have spoken honestly to me. You are dismissed.” 

Legolas watched as the elf departed before turning back to his choices. He was dismayed when no other stepped forward.

“No one else?” he asked. None moved. 

He had hoped, rather foolishly, that the majority would protest being a part of his father’s schemes now that the king was no longer breathing down their necks and he would have but a handful to decide among. Counting them, Legolas found he had yet seventeen still before him. 

They were quite the mixed lot. While some he could only ever recall seeing in passing, others he’d spoken with many times. He could not guess to all their current duties as they’d worn their best tunics in response to a summons from the king. However, some he knew to be cooks and others apprentice weaponsmiths, areas he dealt with regularly. Their ages ranged from just out of majority to elves as old as his father. 

The latter worried him, for you did not often find an elder who was not proficient in his task. With the ever growing darkness in their woods, not many would suffer inadequacy, in themselves or others. If you were lacking in an area, you found another so that you may do your part in keeping the kingdom strong. The only exception Legolas had ever found to this rule was his father’s personal servant, Galion, who was completely unredeemable in his current occupation. No one Legolas had ever asked could provide an answer for his continued duties and he dared not approach his father himself.

Legolas could only assume the elders of the group had changed masteries out of boredom and found ones in which they were not quite so masterful. Meaning if he chose one, he was potentially taking away a terrible cook but an amazing shoemaker. But if he chose someone younger, he was keeping them from finding their own potential for however many years. Perhaps he should choose on looks alone. Would he seem shallow? Could one _be_ shallow when choosing a bed warmer? 

Dropping his stoic mask, he rubbed at his temple. Legolas would take fighting entire nests of spiders with naught but his least favorite daggers over this any day.

Deciding anything was better than having his father make the choice for him, he said, “I am going to close my eyes and you will shift your locations. Then I will call out a number.”

Legolas pointedly ignored some of the amused glances going about the room. Taking a deep breath, he shut his eyes and tried his best not to focus on the footsteps of any individual elf.

“Thirteen,” he called out after he felt enough time had passed. 

Legolas opened his eyes and counted thirteen down. The elf was an older than him, but much younger than his father, for which he was grateful, despite the fact he’d given all of the elders present the chance. 

“Ningannel,” Legolas said, tilting his head in acknowledgement. 

He worked with cloth, Legolas recalled. How someone could be bad at weaving and stitching, he did not know.

“My prince,” he replied, bowing his head. 

“The rest of you are dismissed.”

They each graced him with a respectful nod as they left his presence, until only he and Ningannel remained. Silence stretched between them. Legolas assumed this would be the point in time in which anyone other than Thranduil’s son might start fidgeting. 

Finally, having no idea what else he might say, Legolas blurted, “Do you know where my room lays?”

“I have had little reason to wander that part of the palace before, but I do know its location. Shall I begin my duties tonight?” The last part held an edge of hopefulness in it, though it was obvious the other had tried to hide it behind a veneer of proper work ethic.

“You need not. I realize this has been an unexpected change in occupation,” Legolas said, more out of a lingering sense of propriety than because he thought Ningannel needed the words.

“Oh no, I’d be glad to bring you pleasure as soon as possible.” Ningannel’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d said and a blush spread across his face like wild fire and continued upwards to pepper his ears. 

A part of Legolas very south of his own face warmed in response as he finally accepted the reality of the situation. There was a handsome Silvan male standing before him who wished to engage in love-making. With him. _Right now._

“We should retire to my room,” Legolas croaked. He could not fathom how his father managed to speak of his own bed warmer with such detached disinterest. He found that in that moment he was surprised he could speak at all.

They made their way through the halls as quickly as they could without actually running. Legolas imagined they were quite the sight to the knowing on-lookers, but he could not bring himself to care. 

His bedroom door was barely locked before Ningannel was sliding to his knees before him. Legolas stared at him with wide eyes and pressed himself back against the door. Surely he did not mean to…? 

Ningannel tensed.

“Forgive me, my prince! In my excitement I have been too bold.” 

He made to stand, his head lowered in shame and hands wringing together uncertainly. Legolas prevented him with a light touch to the shoulder.

“I would have you continue if that is your desire,” Legolas whispered. He watched through lidded eyes as Ningannel looked up and what could only be described as a playful smirk graced his lips.

“I desire it.”

Legolas swallowed and Ningannel seemed to take that as some sort of sign as the other elf unlaced his leggings. Pushing them down just enough so that they still rested on his upper thighs, he set to work immediately by sliding his mouth over the tip of his cock. Legolas’ head tilted back of its own accord, mussing his perfectly kept hair as soft gasps left his mouth. Ningannel continued downwards until he had been swallowed whole. Legolas pressed his palms into the door behind him and closed his eyes.

Ningannel set himself a brutal pace which Legolas would have never bestowed upon him had he been able to do more than stand there like the inexperienced elfling he was. Working his mouth up and down as if his very freedom depended upon it, Ningannel chased all thoughts from his mind until he only knew sensations. 

Occasionally, just when it felt he was about to burst, Ningannel would pull off entirely to swirl the tip of his tongue around and into Legolas’ slit. When Legolas whined his displeasure, he would ignore his cock entirely and focus on his balls instead. He’d let out a most undignified noise when one had been sucked into the elf’s mouth for the first time.

All the while, Ningannel’s hands roamed, sometimes pushing up his tunic to run curiously over his stomach, other times running down the sides of his leggings. When he tired of that, Ningannel pried Legolas’ rigid legs from their flushed position against the door so that he may slip his hands back to kneed his cheeks. Legolas noted somewhere in the distant part of his mind not flushed with pleasure that Ningannel did not dare go near what lay in between. 

This continued for what must have been entire lifetimes. It was _torture_. Surely the elves he had spied through cracked doorways had not taken this long to reach climax?

After an eternity of agony, his body decided it could go no further. He brought a shaky hand up in an attempt to push Ningannel away, only to have the elf firmly cement his lips over his head and accept his spillage. As his first barrage passed, Ningannel pushed his mouth back and then slowly came forward again. He repeated the action, milking the last traces of his seed until all that was left was Legolas’ whimpers as a mouth suddenly too _much_ ran over his unbearably sensitive skin.

Legolas was vaguely aware of Ningannel’s arms around his waist as the other completed his task. His legs threatened to give out from under him and it was only his many years as a warrior that kept him standing despite his exhaustion, albeit while gripping Ningannel’s shoulders for dear life.

“Have I performed well, my prince?” Ningannel asked, his voice playful though the twitching of his fingers at Legolas’ back gave evidence to his nervousness. Legolas noted his desire to look at anything but his face.

Breathless, Legolas replied, “Never have I experienced such pleasure. Give me but a moment and I will return the favor.”

Startled, Ningannel let his arms fall away.

“You need not do that. It is my duty to serve you.”

“Ours will not be a completely unequal relationship, with one side receiving everything and the other nothing. _This_ is how you will serve me.” Reading the uncertainty in the other elf’s shoulders, he added, “I command it.”

“Yes, my prince.”

“You need not be so formal. I am not my father.”

“Perhaps I enjoy being formal,” Ningannel whispered, pressing forward to lay a kiss on his stomach, “…My prince.”

Legolas had no words with which to respond.

Almost shyly, Ningannel said, “You could touch me with your hands, if you wish. Most do not start with their mouth. I just…” Legolas could see the tips of his ears pinking. “I wanted to be able to make your first experience memorable.” Almost as an afterthought he added, “I have been told I have a very talented tongue.”

That he did.

Feeling recovered enough, Legolas released his grip on Ningannel’s shoulders and leaned back. 

“Teach me how to pleasure with my hands then…bed warmer,” he ordered. Ningannel let out a little gasp.

“If I may lie upon your bed, you may touch me from above.” 

“And if I wish to lie beneath you?”

Looking up at him from half-lidded eyes, Ningannel answered, “Then I shall endeavor to be a worthy bed warmer, my lord, so that we may have time enough to explore many pathways to satisfaction.”

Legolas decided then that thirteen was henceforth going to be known as his new favorite number.

**Author's Note:**

> So, what'd you think? Concrit welcome! Especially if you see issues with the Tolkien 'verse cause I don't know shit about that world. (How old is Legolas? I have no clue. Are there any canon elves I could have used instead? I can't seem to find a list of them anywhere.) 
> 
> And I'm really not certain about how Legolas came out. I wanted him to be fairly "virginal" yet not some simpering fool that didn't know what a dick was for. He's an adult (my headcanon says elves mature late sexually). He's a warrior prince who's led people into battle against giant freakin' spiders for goodness' sakes! So, I tried to combine those traits & I'm not certain if I was successful or not.


End file.
